Window
By Cinara
Window The clearest window is the lense through which I look at life It is my eyes that enterpret what is there before me It’s all so clear, the long ago photgraphs engraved in the scrapbook of the mind But then again, why are there so many empty spaces on a page that should be filled with gardens? Thoughts sometimes cloud the window panes and the eyes are closed to life Words go unheard I go from here to there unaware of the walk, so consumed am I with myself and my own dreams that the shade is lowered, my eyes clouded with a mist that shroud the day, and I forgot to live. There is an empty page when the chrystal lenses were reflecting the starlight, but I wasn’t looking through the windows of life for I was in a state of introspection, and I never saw you standing there Written April 10th, 2002 © on Apr 09 2002 11:26 PM PST 0 • 8
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"Window..."